It's Over Now
by MorbidTruth
Summary: You alone can make my song take flight-it's over now, the music of the night .


**A/N: My first Phantom of the Opera fic. Definately not my best writing but I actually like it. Ah well, review anyway!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot. :D**

A hooded figure stood in the cemetary, staring down at the Vicomtess's grave. If a stranger were to pass by, they would think that the figure was an admirer of her's, or even her husband, the Vicomte de Chagny. But it was not her husband or even an admirer. Well, not the type of admirer some would think of.

It was the Phantom, as many people still knew him, even after fifty years.

The year was 1920. It had been fifty years since Christine had left him for Raoul. Erik, covered by the usual black cloak and tight black gloves, lent down to place the blood red rose, tied with a black ribbon, on the gravestone. His white mask still covered the right side of his face. He looked tired, old even behind the legendary mask.

As always when he visited his beloved's grave, he thought back to the many times he'd been with her, even when she was "happily" married to the Vicomte.

_It was the first time Erik had let her see him. His heart was beating fast and hard in his chest, but his features were distorted in the mirror. She followed him to his cript, eyes wide and a feeling of wonder surrounding her. Their singing had echoed through the cavern, but he could only think of her body under his, her beautiful voice moaning his name in shared pleasure. But he'd have to wait for that. _

_"Christine, you need to rest. You cannot go back to them just yet. Sleep now, I'll wake you when you need to be up," Erik said gently, leading her to the bed. She nodded sleepily and laid down. Erik could see the dressing gown part at her thigh. The pure white stockings were thin and silken looking. Ah, best not think of that just now. "Goodnight darling."_

_When she awoke, he was sitting at the piano, desperatly wondering if he should whisk her away from Paris before that fool, Raoul, changed her mind about her angel. He heard her voice before he felt her standing behind him._

I remember there was mist  
swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake ... 

There were candles all around  
and on the lake there was a boat,  
and in the boat there was a man ...

_He turned and she looked down at him with her wide chocolate eyes. Other than the music, she was the only beauty in his life. The only thing that was worth risking life for. She gazed down at him with fear and love. A strange combination to most, but for him, it was wonderful. _

_She silently stroked his cheek and forehead, discreetly slipping her fingers under the mask and pulling it off. In one swift movement, Erik pushed her away, sending her toward the floor. _

Damn you!  
You little prying  
Pandora!  
You little demon -  
is this what you wanted to see? 

Curse you!  
You little lying  
Delilah!  
You little viper!  
now you cannot ever be free!

Damn you . . .  
Curse you . . .

A tear slipped down his cheek and he was too tired to wipe it away. The snow was still falling gently and it began to cover the rose. This reminded him of the winter he'd come back to her, tweny years before.

_The house was quiet, empty except for Christine. He knew she was lying in bed, awake and waiting for him. Raoul was in London, doing business. _

_Erik swiftly crept down the hall, and finally found the door. Silently, he pushed it open. There she lie, blankets still neatly folded at the foot of the bed. She was wearing only a white, slightly transparent nightgown. Her eyes were open and a smile played on her lips._

_"Erik." Her voice was soft, and full of love. She eyed him happily. He was wearing a half buttoned white shirt with black trousers, long black cloak, and the white mask that covered half his face. He stepped closer, tentatively. _

_"Christine. Come to your Angel of Music," His voice was just the way she remembered it. She slid off the bed gracefully and was engulfed in his strong arms before she could take two steps. Before she could change her mind, they were locked in a sweet embrace, soft lips against soft lips. _

_He helped her out of her nightgown as she pushed his cloak to floor. As they moved closer to the bed, never breaking the kiss, he hummed._

Past the point  
of no return,  
the final threshold -  
what warm,  
unspoken secrets  
will we learn?  
Beyond the point  
of no return . . .

_As she lie under him, he pulled away._

_"This is the point of no return. Decide now. Stop it or let it go on," he told her sadly. He figured she'd stop it, telling him she was happily married and that this was all a mistake, but he was wrong._

_"I should not have left you so long ago. I'd never stop this. I've wanted it for years," she whispered before kissing him fervently. After he'd slipped his trousers off and his silk shirt was lying on the floor, he pushed her back into the bed and kissed his way down her throat to her chest to her stomach. He lifted himself back to her face and kissed her gently on the lips. She smiled at him, nodding for him to go on._

_As he slid in and out of her, she sang, occassionaly breaking to pant or moan._

In my mind,  
I've already  
imagined our  
bodies entwining  
defenceless and silent -  
and now I am  
here with you:  
no second thoughts,

_When it was finished and they were lying together, a tangle of sweaty limbs, she kissed him again. _

_"I love you."_

_"Oh, Erik. I love you too. But you know this can't happen again. I'm married to Raoul, whether I want to be or not. But you can't forget this night, Erik, you can't forget that I love you. Promise me?" She asked him, tears filling her eyes. He gazed at her, his expression filled with sorrow but he nodded._

_They parted that night with a kiss and secret words of love. _

That was the last time he'd seen her alive. He'd stayed in the shadows at the funeral, singing softly and tears running down his face. After the crowd of mourners had left, he'd placed a blood red rose tied in a black ribbon on her grave, with a gold locket. The words, _Forever In my Heart_ were inscribed on it.

Now, as the snow fall became heavy, he turned away from the grave and headed toward the exit.

As he took at the edge of the roof of the Opera Populaire, he sang loudly and clearly.

You alone  
can make my song take flight -  
it's over now, the music of the night . . .

He threw himself off the roof. If you had been near enough, you would have heard him utter her name, Christine, a second before hitting the snow covered ground.

**A/N: REVIEW! It's my first, so I want lots of feedback.**


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